


maybe

by nishiqueeno



Category: BanG Dream! Girl's Band Party! (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, implied yukisayo, kind of a short drabble, random?? no real plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 22:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10728753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishiqueeno/pseuds/nishiqueeno
Summary: Guitar was her love, her passion, her escape. When did Sayo lose it all?





	maybe

“Minato-san”. Sayo’s voice rings out loud and clear through the studio. “We should go. Our session time is almost over.”

“You can go ahead without me,” is the immediate reply. Sayo peeks out through the window in the door and watches the other three members walk off, turning the corner and disappearing from sight. “I will,” Sayo answers, hesitant. Her hand rests on the door knob. “Are you going to practice more?”

“Of course,” Yukina says, “I waste no time.”

Sayo bites her lip, indecisive; inferior to Yukina’s overwhelming presence, she wonders if she’ll be okay alone with her. She pushes the door open slightly, then shuts it. It’s for the sake of a perfect performance.

“Don’t start yet,” Sayo calls. Yukina turns to her, expression as stoic as ever. Sayo’s quick to get her guitar out from its case.

“I’ll join you.”

* * *

 

Her face is on fire, red and hot and ablaze and suddenly there’s only the overwhelming sound of her heartbeat in her ears, drowning out the soft thud of her pick hitting the ground. There’s a rush around her, hands on her shoulder and her back that she can hardly see through the haze in her eyes.

Sayo doesn’t quite comprehend what’s happening, but Yukina’s hovering over her – she thinks so, anyway, because the figure is a smudge of dull purple and amber mixed together. Everything else is a daze – when she comes back and the _thump thump thump_ of her heart isn’t quite as loud, Sayo finds herself in the corner of the studio with a cold bottle pressed to her forehead.

And Yukina.

They’re only inches apart. Sayo stares into her blank, emotionless eyes, and she can feel her heart banging wildly against her chest again. It’s different this time, and she feels dizzy but not necessarily in a bad way.

And then Yukina pulls away, and Sayo lets out the breath she’d been holding as the freezing bottle loses touch with her head.

A moment of silence, then, “Our session’s almost over. The others have left already. We cut practice short.”

Yukina stands, then turns to gather her belongings in the other side of the room. No ‘are you okay’s or ‘how are you’s, Sayo notes, but she knows the vocalist has her own ways of showing her concern. Like the way she’d stayed behind to watch after Sayo for two hours when everyone had already left.

The guitarist allows a tired smile as Yukina pulls her up and hands her her guitar, packed neatly into its case.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” Yukina says, parting words as they exit the studio. “Your performance is important, but so is your health.” (Sayo wonders if she really cares, or it’s just because she doesn’t want to waste another practice session.)

And then she’s gone before Sayo can thank her, off into the fading sunlight.

* * *

 

She can’t do it.

She runs her fingers over the neck of her guitar, gripping it tightly when they land on the first fret. Deep breath in, and out, and her hold loosens.

One more time.

Sayo plays the piece again. It isn’t hard – she’s done harder, so much harder, but her fingers don’t quite move fast enough or press hard enough and her grip on her pick isn’t tight enough; she hits a blunt note and the pick goes flying across the room. It hurts, somewhere between physical pain (her fingers are bleeding) and emotional frustration (it’s so, so hard to breathe) and Sayo steels the tears away. Not now. Not ever. She can do better than this.

One more time.

* * *

 

“You’re okay, right?”

“Yes,” Sayo replies without missing a beat. “Why do you ask?”

Lisa frowns and doesn’t respond right away. She slides a hand through her thick curls and sighs. “We’re worried,” she finally says.

“Worried?” The guitarist raises an eyebrow, “ _We_?”

“Y’know,” Lisa tries, avoiding eye contact, stretching her arms out behind her, “all of us. Don’t you think you’re practicing a little too hard?”

Sayo ignores the pang in the chest that hits her and the recollection of her long hours of practice that failed to pay off. The words slip off her tongue before she can catch herself. “Practice _too hard_? There is no such thing. I can only get better if I practice more. Don’t you think you’re practicing too _little_?”

“You’re _good enough_ , Sayo! You’re hurting yourself by doing this!” Lisa’s eyes are wide with anger, or concern, or both.

“With that kind of attitude I’d go nowhere!” Sayo snaps, pushing herself up from her chair; she’s not one to draw attention in a public area, much less in a crowded café outside a live house, but she’s fed up with Lisa. With all of this. The skill she’d once had a firm grasp on is rapidly slipping through the very fingers she’d entrusted with the ability to play.

She’d stood up too quickly, Sayo guesses, because blood rushes to her head and the world comes crashing down on her at once and she’s back on the seat – barely – with her head in her hands. Everything’s spinning, and it’s worse now that she feels so _empty_ in every way possible – maybe Lisa’s right. Sayo hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days, so caught up, so…obsessed over perfecting a skill she’d practically lost thanks to her deteriorating ability to take care of herself. How ironic.

Sayo lets her head fall onto the metal table; the cold surface sends a jolt through her forehead, but her senses are numbed and she doesn’t have the energy to keep up her mature, aloof image. Lisa doesn’t say anything – she’s considerate in that way – and places her hand on the guitarist’s slumped back. And then in a hushed tone just loud enough for Sayo to hear, the bassist speaks into the phone.

“Yukina? Can you come? It’s urgent.”

* * *

 

They end up walking her home in a tense silence that seemed to haunt Sayo ever since Yukina arrived. Lisa leaves at the gate, and the singer brings Sayo in, a hand on her back to support her.

She doesn’t leave, not even after Sayo’s on her bed, eyes closed, breath even.

Sayo can feel Yukina’s presence – it’s there and it’s strong and she can’t ignore it, can’t bring herself to sleep. It feels so _foreign_ – even in her own room – when someone else is there. When _Yukina_ is there.

She can feel her heart slamming wildly in her chest as she lies in silence, feigning sleep. For a moment she can’t hear even Yukina’s soft breaths, but suddenly it’s louder than ever and Sayo can feel the warmth of her body, pressing closely to her own.

Sayo holds back a flinch when Yukina takes her left hand, holding it between her own two; her breaths are becoming laboured, heartbeat louder than ever. _Just what is Yukina doing?_

At first, nothing. And then Yukina runs her fingertips over Sayo’s – over the rough surface, deep red cuts attained from hours of futile practicing. She traces every crevice in her fingers, her palm, then up her wrist and back down.

Then a kiss on each of her fingers, and Sayo can hardly stop her breath from hitching ever so slightly.

When Yukina finally leaves, Sayo presses her palm to her chest and thinks about long violet hair and unblinking amber eyes.

* * *

 

After her collapse at the café, Sayo makes no effort to leave her house. Hina had come in to question her, but she’d shooed her away; it wasn’t like she wanted to be a bad sister, but Sayo needed time. A lot of it. Her phone’s inbox is flooded, too – missed calls from Lisa, well-meaning texts from Ako and Rinko, and a single message Yukina sent, an hour after she left that day. Sayo hadn’t bothered to look at any of them.

She stares at her guitar, resting across the room, and then looks away. She can’t do it.

Not anymore.

Sayo holds her left hand up and touches her fingers, her palm, her wrist. The memory of Yukina tracing over her hand burns brightly in her head, a painful throb that sends her mind out of order, and Sayo wonders that Yukina did to her that made the world around her spin so violently.

She remembers Yukina’s lips against her fingers, light as a feather, so gentle it feels like a dream.

Sayo covers her face.

* * *

 

Sayo’s barely awake when Hina bursts her door open. “Onee-chan, your friend is-”

“Pardon the intrusion.”

“Oh!” Her sister turns back, and for a second Sayo spots a tell-tale butterfly accessory that peeks above Hina’s head. She doesn’t have time to prepare herself before her twin is gone and Yukina stands in her place at the door, wearing an unreadable expression. (Who is she kidding, Yukina’s expressions are never readable.)

“Minato-san, what are you...”

But Yukina’s already across the room, kneeling by the side of Sayo’s bed, pushing herself closer. “Rinko said you hadn’t been at school for the past week. You hadn’t been to practice, either. Are you unwell?”

“I…am not feeling the best.” It wasn’t a lie. Physically, she was only deprived of food and sleep. Mentally, Sayo was a mess.

“Get well soon, then,” Yukina says, turning around. Her gaze lands on Sayo’s guitar, collecting dust in the corner of the room. “Have you been practicing?”

Sayo doesn’t answer, and she knows Yukina knew the answer even before she’d asked. “…Are you going to quit Roselia?” the singer asks, voice hushed.

Eyes wide, Sayo opens her mouth to reply but nothing comes out. _Would_ she quit? No, never, not for anything; Roselia is _everything_ to her and more – Roselia was the miracle she asked for, and quitting would be shutting herself back into the world she’d finally escaped from.

But Yukina misinterprets the prolonged silence, and she pulls away. “I see.”

And she’s already by the door, brushing her dress down before Sayo can protest. _Wait_ , Sayo wants to say, but the words aren’t there and Yukina’s gone and she can feel the tears slipping down her face again.

* * *

 

 _I don’t want to quit_ , Sayo types, _I never said anything about quitting_. She doesn’t hit send and instead pushes her body off her bed to move to the other side of the room where her guitar sits, abandoned.

Sayo touches every inch of her beloved guitar; it feels so foreign, so long since she last played it. And she picks it up, retrieving her pick from her desk.

_I can do it._

But her fingers are stiff, inflexible from the abrupt break she took from practicing. She can’t move them fast enough – no, _she can’t move them at all_. Sayo stares, horrified, at her frozen fingers, trembling in place, hovering over the strings like they’re afraid to touch them.

Everything she’d worked for up until now – all of it – gone. Forcing her fingers to move, Sayo jabs at random chords and lands on the wrong frets, making a harsh, offkey tune as irregular as her strums, not quite hard enough. Her own sobs are drowned out by the loud, broken sounds, a reflection of her mind – a mess.

Guitar was her love, her passion, her escape. When did Sayo lose it all?

* * *

 

For two whole weeks, Sayo doesn’t see or hear from any of her band members.

It’s painful, excruciatingly so, for the first few days. Her phone doesn’t budge, and not even Hina appears at her door anymore.

Another week, and Sayo loses it.

It’s overwhelming, what she feels. Or rather, what she doesn’t; everything is empty: her mind, her stomach, her emotions. Sayo feels, but also doesn’t.

It hurts, but it doesn’t. There’s a sense of numbness overtaking her body, a force far too strong for Sayo, weak and brittle, to fight off.

She doesn’t know anymore. It’s everything and nothing at the same time. The rush of emotions, yet at the same time, an empty void. The tears that yearn to come out, but have long since dried.

It doesn’t make sense, Sayo thinks, and when was the last time it did?

* * *

 

“Sayo!”

It’s a voice, far from her, out of her reach. She claws at empty space, pulling closer, hearing the voice call her name as she nears.

And it’s a voice she’s not quite sure she’s ready to hear. Not here. Not now.

But she’s pulled herself into consciousness before she can drown herself back into sleep.

She recognises the green eyes instantly. Lisa stands over her, hands grasped firmly on her shoulders, hard enough to bruise. But it’s the first real pain Sayo’s felt in _god_ knows how long, and it serves as a good wakeup call; once Lisa’s released her grip, Sayo pushes herself up against her bed weakly. _God_ , everything _hurts_ , but it feels good and she wants to laugh and cry at the same time, mostly because she’s sure she’s gone insane.

Lisa looks unamused. “ _Christ_ , how are you still alive? Hina said she hadn’t seen you in weeks and that you were locked in here all that time!” She picks up Sayo’s limp arm. Flesh and bones. “I thought you were unwell, just resting at home. Have you even eaten anything?”

Sayo draws her gaze to her bedroom door, away from the impending stare of Lisa’s jade orbs. “I…” A cough – she hadn’t used her voice in weeks. “I get food from the kitchen…occasionally.”

“Sayo…” Lisa lowers to her knees to face the guitarist. “I’m sorry we never contacted you. We thought…we thought that you wanted to quit, and you wanted time away from us. I didn’t think…”

“I can’t do it,” Sayo forces out, a broken record that had been playing over and over in her head for as long as she can remember, the words that haunted her since she joined Roselia. The words that she hoped would never come true. “I’m not as good as anyone thinks I am, I…”

“You’re wrong.”

And then the voice she’d been dreading to hear. Sayo doesn’t need to move her head to acknowledge Yukina’s presence. (When did Lisa call her over?)

“I formed a band with you not because you had talent, but because I saw through your tireless effort,” Yukina says, eyes cold, voice hard. “You had a goal and you would give up anything to achieve it. That’s all I needed.”

“But my guitar…I’m unable to…”

“You can’t play,” the singer says, stepping closer until she’s bending down in front Sayo, her stare baring right into her inner being, “because you haven’t been taking care of yourself. Lift your hand.”

Sayo obliges, but her muscles don’t work and her arm struggles to hold itself up. Yukina clasps Sayo’s palm between her own. “You haven’t been eating, exercising, or practicing.” She traces every crevice on her fingers, and Sayo flinches at the memory of the similar experience. “How do you expect to play well?”

Lisa had left the room at one point, Sayo notes when Yukina pulls away. And then she’s back, closer than ever, forehead pressed against Sayo’s warm one. “Roselia isn’t Roselia without you. We need you and you need us, Sayo.”

And Yukina’s closer again – their noses bump and their lips meet in the briefest of moments, so quick Sayo’s not sure if it happened or not because Yukina is halfway across the room when her mind is cleared.

“Come back to practice when you have fixed yourself.”

The singer is gone before Sayo can answer, and she presses a finger to her lips, chapped and dry from dehydration but with a lingering foreign taste, a different feeling.

Maybe she can do it after all.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! im trash for yukisayo and this was supposed to be a yukisayo fic but its just sayo being sad with a somewhat implied yukisayo....sorry orz


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